"Yeah."
"I said yes."
I wipe my palm on my jeans. Look at the tree line past her shoulder.
"Of course you said yes."
"Gray."
"What do you want me to say, Simone."
"I want you to be happy for me."
"I am."
"You don't look happy."
"I'm tired."
"You're not tired. You're pulling away."
"I'm giving you room to do what you need to do."
"That's not what you're doing."
"Now you’re telling me I'm doing."
"What you're actually doing is pretending this is already over so the ending doesn't cost you."
I look at her.
"Is that what I'm doing."
"Yes."
"Huh."
"Don't do the word thing."
"What word thing."
"The one syllable thing. The shut-down thing. The thing you do when a conversation gets close to anything you don't want to answer for."
"Simone."
"Grayson."
We stand there.
I pick the axe back up. Set it on the chopping block. Don't swing.
"I told you yesterday I'd respect what you needed."
"You said you'd respect it. You didn't say you'd stop talking to me."
"I'm talking to you right now."
"Not really."
